lipsticksavior

A woman's journey to herself with some help from the cosmetics aisle

Mar. 8th, 2010

I'm quitting smoking. Anyone who knows me in real life, on Facebook or any of the many online message boards where I participate know that I'm on day 10.

Stopping has been hard. Because well, it's hard. The hard parts for me are many. First, I really, really love to smoke. I love the business of popping open the box, getting situated, snapping my lighter. I especially love to smoke on cold days when it looks like I'm exhaling smoke for forever. I love that first rush of nicotine in the morning with my first cigarette. Sitting out on the front step with my coffee and my smokes, watching the world go by.

I like how it gives me something to look forward to, a little break. It's something I do that gives me time just for me, doing something only I like to do.

I like it so much I crept up to fifteen a day. And at $6 a pack I can't afford, financially or healthwise, to keep smoking.

But, oh, I miss it.

Some of the stuff I've been doing has helped. I set up all the farming games on Facebook so that I had to check every 45 minutes otherwise my crops would wither. I got a big canvas and started a new painting. I got myself into my retro housewife get-up complete with pin curls and lipstick and cleaned until rooms sparkled. When I went out I'd get on some cute outfit I didn't want to mess up with smoke. I put on lipstick.

It's scary, starting another week where I know I'm going to be in situations where I'm going to want a puff to get me through. Part of me says I'm an adult and I should be able to smoke if I want to. Another voice says I'm weak and a loser. Yet another voice tells me to tell everyone 'fuck it, I don't care what you think' and buy cigarettes.

Feb. 22nd, 2010

When I think about housewives, I generally think of my Grandma Ruth first.

She maintained a household in an old school, single handed fashion. No garbage disposal. No dishwasher. No dryer, a clothesline. (I have great memories of walking in between the clean, damp sheets that smelled like Downy fabric softener. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.) She prepared three meals a day and did the dishes after every meal. There wasn't a divided sink, she used plastic tubs.

But every morning, before she started her day in earnest, she would sit down with her coffee and cigarettes to play solitaire. After lunch she sat down to watch All My Children. She did needlepoint and cross-stitch and knitted, things she enjoyed. And she put on lipstick when she left the house.

Here are some things I've put together from my grandmother and the other women I've known and my own experience as a housewife:

Feb. 9th, 2010

"You know I've accepted the fact that I can't keep up with the house by myself, right?" I asked him.

"Of course you can't. Not with four people living here. The energy that goes into making it messy is more than you can put into keeping it cleaned up. I don't complain." Then he went into the bedroom to get ready to g to work.

He came back out thirty seconds later, "Hey honey? I just need to tell you that you do a great job around here. You do a great job taking care of us, you keep the kids happy. You make lunches everyday. And you have time to express yourself creatively. And you're making these big changes in your life to make yourself happier. And you deal with it all. Heath Ledger's dead. He couldn't deal with it. Look at all the people on Celebrity Rehab. They have all the money and resources in the world and they can't do it. They don't have excuses like "I don't have a housekeeper." But you do a great job, so don't sweat the laundry so much. "

And I got all embarrassed and weepy, because I recognized what he said was true.